Love From Beyond
by I 4 2 write
Summary: Based on Ghost with Patrick Swayze. Sherlock is murdered, but his soul remains behind. He's left with one last mystery to solve, his own murder, and above all he has to make sure the woman he loves and had to leave behind will be safe. Not connected to my other Sherlock fics for those worried about his safety in them.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Warning for sadness and obvious character death. Um, it's basically Ghost, Sherlock style. This is NOT part of my life story one or my family detective one. I promise that one will be happily ever after, and I'll put up a few one shorts that show Sherlock's family life. Will my life story one be happy? Depends on what happens in the series. Should also say this one I'm starting here and now starts before Sherlock and John met. And now on with this new story!

Nobody who knew him would have said Sherlock Holmes was the type who would fall in love. He scoffed at love as a weakness, something to be found on the losing side. Oh it was a great thing for figuring out someone's motivation for a crime. He wouldn't be above exploiting it himself. He'd known Molly Hooper was in love with him. Complimenting her hair or makeup was a sure way to get into the morgue after hours or to have access to files he shouldn't. He took advantage of her feelings for him shamelessly, but somewhere along the line that changed.

No matter how observant he was, he couldn't have said just when he'd fallen in love with her too. Maybe it was the first time she'd called him out on his cruel behavior. Maybe it was when she'd stopped trying to flirt with him and he somehow missed it. In the end, it didn't really matter when he'd fallen in love with her. The important thing was that he had. Slowly, he'd started treating her kindly. One day Mrs. Hudson hid his skull and he decided to ask Molly along with him on a case. It was just as a sounding board for his thoughts, but she'd been an enormous help. Her questions redirected his thinking, and the case was solved much faster than he would have solved it alone.

He'd ended up taking her for fish and chips after. He hadn't eaten since before the case started, and was hungrier than he'd admit. As they spoke that evening, he had to admit he enjoyed her company After that night, they started spending more time together. He was the happiest he'd ever been. Love hadn't made his life worse. It was so much better.

There was only one small problem. He could never quite say the words "I love you." When Molly said them to him, he would nod, answer "Yes" and give her a warm smile. Molly knew what he meant, but she still wished he'd say it. When she asked him about it he stiffened slightly. He wasn't sure himself why the words were so hard.

"I tell you I love you, Molly."

"No you don't. You say yes and smile."

"You know what I mean by it."

Yes, she did. That was really all that mattered. She had always loved him, he finally loved her, and they were happy.

Having a girlfriend changed nothing in Sherlock's work. He still took cases. The latest one involved the bank where his old school mate, Sebastian Wilkes, worked. Somehow, there was far too much money in the accounts. If there had been too little, it would have meant identity theft or bank fraud. Too much made Sherlock think of money laundering. He wasn't sure who was doing it, but he knew how to stop it. All he had to do was change a few codes. From there, it would be easy to find out who was guilty. He had just finished and was entering the codes on his phone when he felt someone walk up behind him. He turned and saw Sebastian

"Sorry about all this, buddy. Can't believe they got you involved for a few math errors. These things happen. Hardly worth your time." He stared at Sherlock's phone. "What are you doing?"

"Solving a case." Sebastian looked a little too uneasy.

"So, I heard you're going out with Molly Hooper?" Sherlock didn't answer. "As in actual dates? Two people going out and having fun together?"

The detective didn't like this line of questioning. Sebastian wasn't the type to appreciate a woman, especially one like Molly. Sherlock remembered when he and Sebastian had been in uni together. He'd deduced far more than he wanted about Sebastian's- study sessions.

"You know crime scenes don't count," the banker continued. "Taking her anywhere tonight?"

"I thought I was solving a case at the moment, not discussing Molly and I."

"That's hardly fair," Sebastian prompted. "The rest of us normal people can't know everything about someone just by looking."

"Not that it matters," Sherlock said sharply. "But I'm taking her to a play she's been wanting to see and then we're having dinner at Angelo's. Normal enough for you?" He shoved the piece of paper in his wallet, and put the wallet back in his coat pocket. Sure there was nothing else to find at the bank, he left.

The evening went well. Both he and Molly enjoyed the play. Angelo did all he could to make the dinner more romantic. It was a beautiful night, too. Sherlock wasn't interested in stars, but he could appreciate how Molly looked under them. It had been a gradual process, but he'd learned to put his arm around her. He did so.

"I love you," she told him. He gave that nod and smile no one but Molly would have understood.

"Yes."

She smiled back, leaning slightly into him. Suddenly he tensed. He held her tighter, and walked faster.

"Sherlock what's wrong?"

"We're being followed. Stick close to me. Don't be afr-" Before he could finish, a masked man stepped out in front of them. He aimed a gun as Sherlock shifted in front of Molly.

"Give me your wallet and nobody has to get hurt."

"Sherlock, just give it to him," Molly pleaded. She knew Sherlock could hold his own in a fight, but he wasn't bulletproof. Sherlock might have tried something any other time, but it wasn't worth risking Molly. Sherlock tossed his wallet, hoping to grab Molly and run while the thief went for it. Instead, the gun was aimed more directly.

"And your phones!" The detective might have given in, but the gun was aimed strait at Molly. Sherlock rushed him, and Molly called the police for help.

The two men struggled, and Sherlock nearly had the gun away from the mugger when it went off. Molly screamed, and the thief started running. Sherlock ran after him, but stopped after a short distance. He had to get back to Molly. She'd screamed, but he was sure the gun had never been aimed at her. Still, he couldn't leave her alone now.

He turned to see her on the ground holding something, sobbing. She was shaking, and had dropped her phone. It was too dark to make out what she was holding.

"Sherlock, please no! This isn't happening. You're not leaving me like this! I love you!"

What was she talking about? No one was hurt, but she was acting like someone was dead. Then Sherlock walked closer and saw. Molly was holding someone who had a bullet hole through the chest. The eyes stared into space, not seeing. The bullet had hit in a way that would have killed someone before they even knew they were dying. The face that was so empty of life was Sherlock's own!


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock's stare met the stare of the lifeless form. That wasn't him! He'd never believed in an afterlife. How could he be here, looking down at Molly and that thing she was trying to revive? Something was wrong with his senses. He was seeing things. Maybe he'd hit his head and was delusional?

"Molly, that's not me. I'm right here. I don't know what;s going on, but I can't be dead. I'm standing right beside you. Molly look at me!"

Shouting made no difference. She never took her eyes off the dead stranger who looked like him. He tried to touch the body, only for his hand to pass through it. That was when fear truly set in.

"This isn't happening! This isn't real!" He tried standing directly in front of Molly, but there was no response. Suddenly a light surrounded him. He couldn't say from where, but surely Molly had to see him now? He was vaguely aware of a pull. He had to step through the light. For a split second he wanted to. The light was warm and welcoming. As he stood in it he felt a strange joy beyond anything he could have imagined. Then he heard Molly begging him to stay with her.

He was with her. Why couldn't she see that? He couldn't leave her. As soon as he made that choice, the light vanished. A chill went through him. He was left uselessly trying to re- enter the transport that would no longer carry his spirit.

The ambulance arrived, and Sherlock felt a slight lifting of hope. They lifted the body inside, and he shouted encouragements no one could hear. To their credit, they continued to work a short time in the hospital. The detective had already known nothing could be done about a shot through the heart. That didn't mean they accepted it when they pronounced him dead.

"Do something! You can't stop now!"

"Sorry, son." Sherlock turned to see an elderly man enter the room.

"You can see and hear me?"

"Don't get too excited," the elderly man said sadly. "The only reason I can is we're both-"

"I. Am. Not. Dead!"

"I'm truly sorry," the other man said again. "It's a shame, a young man like you. You had your whole life ahead of you. I bet you even had a girl. You don't have any choice but to accept this now, though. Don't worry. You'll be all right. You're on the side of the angels."

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock glared and stepped away. The man was trying to be kind, but he was making Sherlock uneasy. As if he wasn't already.

"I've been here awhile. Waiting for my wife. She's almost ready to join me. Hanging around here, you see a lot of people cross. With the ones who aren't going where we are, it's terrible. Those- thing- that drag them away will make you forget every nightmare you ever had."

The words of the old story came back to him.

"The east wind that seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the earth."

The old man nodded. 'Good description. Like I said though, you don't have to fear them. They'd have taken you already. Eventually you'll end up in the right place."

A beeping from the room across the hall distracted him. Through the door Sherlock saw a woman rising from the bed, leaving her body behind. The elderly man rushed to take her in his arms.

"Barry? You have no idea how much I missed you!"

"Almost as much as I've missed you," he replied. The two clung to each other and kissed. As they did, the light from earlier surrounded them. Years turned back, leaving a young couple where the old one had stood. It was actually beautiful to watch. The man looked back at Sherlock and told him "Best of luck, kid." With those last words, they stepped into the light and were gone.

There was no reason to stay with the body anymore. Sherlock went to the room where Molly was waiting. He sat beside her as the doctor ave her the official news of his death. She didn't cry. There were no tears left now. Now she just stared ahead. A nurse brought her a blanket, and offered her a cup of coffee. Molly took it but didn't drink it.

She had to wait for a policeman to take her official statement. Sherlock was grateful to see it was Lestrade, someone who knew her. Sherlock felt a sense of pride as Molly explained what had happened, managing to make it through the whole story before breaking down. Lestrade held her and let her shake against his shoulder. He reminded Sherlock of a father comforting his daughter. Somehow he also looked like a father who had lost a son. They sat there, huddled together in grief. No one asked them to move.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The day of the funeral arrived. It seemed a stupid waste of time to Sherlock. Why have a minister he'd never even met get up and speak about what a good man he was (if he'd known him he wouldn't be saying such things), and how he was taken too soon? He'd only been twenty seven. Of course he'd been taken too soon!

If anyone had asked Sherlock while he was alive, he would have said Molly was the only friend he had. Yet the funeral was well attended, to say the least. His parents and Mycroft were there, naturally. His mother was so broken that his father had to almost physically hold her together, his eyes closed tight with his own grief. Mycroft's head never seemed to leave his hands.

Mrs. Hudson sat with the family, her face constantly hidden as she sobbed into her handkerchief. Most of Scotland Yard was there. Even Anderson looked ready to be sick, stricken despite his constant feud with Sherlock. Lestrade looked like he hadn't slept since the night Sherlock had died. Former clients, especially Angelo, took up most of the remaining space.

And then of course there was Molly. She was fighting to be brave, but she looked like a woman who'd lost her very soul. Her eyes weren't filled with grief or guilt. They were empty except for the glistening of renewed tears. She didn't seem to be hearing or seeing anything. Sherlock wanted to shout at them all, especially her, to snap out of it. This was just some nightmare. He wasn't dead, if they'd just open their eyes and look at him. He was almost past denial, but couldn't quite give it up yet.

One at a time, they approached the coffin when the service ended. Everyone seemed to want to say one last private thing. Mycroft was the biggest surprise. Beside the body, he tucked a carton of cigarettes. Smoking together had always been a gesture of piece between the two brothers.

"I don't know why I'm even speaking to you, since I know you can't hear me. I suppose I just need to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the arguments between us. I'm sorry I wasn't a better brother. Most of all, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. All that power, and I let down the person that I- that I love most in the world." His breathing was labored, and his always tidy appearance had become so disheveled he looked like he'd been in the same suit for a week. It would be bad in a normal person. In Mycroft, it amounted to a complete and total breakdown.

"It wasn't your fault," Sherlock tried to tell him. "How do I tell you that?"

Molly was the last person to approach the coffin. She looked at him- or rather his body- as if she could will him back to life. After a long moment she gave him one last kiss. Sherlock felt something gently brush his lips, and if he'd been able to breathe he would have gasped. Then Molly turned her head as she lowered the coffin lid. Sherlock was glad. Everyone standing around staring at the body wouldn't make any difference. Moments later the coffin was lowered. Sherlock followed Molly to her flat. He had no idea what to do now, or where to go from here. The only thing left for him was to stay close to the shattered fragments of what had been his life.


	3. Chapter 3

In the days that followed, Sherlock wished he truly had stopped existing. Nothing could be worse than this, being near the people he'd loved more than he'd have admitted and not being able to communicate. He briefly imagined Greg- yes he had really known his name- having a laugh at that. He'd never kept quiet in his whole life, and now he was unable to be heard saying anything. He couldn't work. He couldn't play his violin. There was nothing for him. Worse yet, it was torture seeing everyone still grieving. The worst came the day Molly took out his coat and scarf. She wrapped herself up in them while holding his favorite purple shirt.

"Your family has been so good to me, Sherlock. They said I could have a few of your things. Your mum invites me over all the time, but I can't talk about you. I know it's weird talking to you, but I swear I still feel you."

"That's because I'm still here, Molly. Somehow I'm going to find a way to let you know that."

He'd never believed in ghosts until he became one, but he'd heard the stories. Things mysteriously moved, writing on walls, strange sounds. Even appearances. Were they just stories or could ghosts really do those things? A few days after the funeral he'd tried, but without success. He was wondering what else he could try when Molly's cat, Toby, came over and rubbed against him, purring contentedly.

"At least you seem to know I'm here." He wasn't sure if Toby could feel him or not, but he started to pet him. The way the cat arched his back made Molly laugh.

"Silly cat. You'd think someone was petting you." Molly reached out, then froze. "Sherlock?"

He let out a shout of relief. "Yes, Molly. I'm here! Toby can sense me. There has to be a way I can reach you too! You can see he knows I'm here, just look at him!"

But Molly had already started shaking her head. "No, I have to stop this. I have to stop pretending you're beside me somehow. If you were here you'd tell be how ridiculous I'm being."

"Not this time, Molly." He groaned. He was never going to find a way to reach her.

Eventually, Molly had to return to work. Sometimes Sherlock followed her, but he didn't like to be in the morgue itself anymore. Some days he went for a walk. Others he looked in on Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, or if he was up for a longer trip his parents. Some days he just stayed at Molly's flat. It still felt like it was theirs. His flat at Baker Street had a new tenant now, some soldier recently home from war. From what Sherlock had seen of him, he had no doubt he was a good man. He was glad Mrs. Hudson had someone like that nearby, but it made it feel less like home.

It turned out to be a very good thing he spent so much time at Molly's flat. He was stretched out on her sofa- if a ghost could be considered stretched out or setting or anything else- when he heard someone tinkering with the door knob. It wasn't the sound of a key. It was someone picking the lock. The door opened, and a masked man entered. His footsteps, height, and a hundred other details only Sherlock would notice identified him. He was Sherlock's killer.

Sherlock had never believed in coincidence. The universe was rarely so lazy. In a very strange way, it was a slight relief. The police had gotten nowhere solving his morder. Maybe now he'd have the chance.

"So I wasn't killed in a random robbery gone wrong. You're looking for something connected to Molly, or me if you think she has my things. You wanted our phones that night, but why come here for a phone when there are other more valuable ones you could steal?"

The logical part of his mind pushed aside his feelings, the way he'd done to solve so many other cases. "It was never about money, not about credit cards or phones to sell anyway. There's something more you're after, but what?"

The emotional part took over again when he heard more steps coming, and recognized them as Molly's. She was home early!

"No! Molly you have to stay away!" He didn't care that she couldn't hear him. He stayed right beside her as she went up the stairs. He couldn't block her from walking ahead or shield her from view. She had barely been functioning since his death, and wasn't really seeing. Toby saw more than her, crouched with his fur on end and glaring at the intruder who was now in Molly's bedroom. Wait. Toby! That was his chance.

Molly changed directions, walking into a side room. If Sherlock could get the intruder out now, when she wouldn't see him, she would be safe. It was a long shot, but he had to try. Lunging, he screamed at the already spooked cat just as the murderer passed him. Toby jumped, landing briefly on the murder's head, sharp clawd digging in. Then in another movement almost two quick to see the cat disapeared under a chair, out of harm's way. A hand was held against the wounded face, but blood leaked through, even through the mask. He ran down the stairs and out the door before Molly could come see what had Toby so upset.

She was safe now. Sherlock had no way to know for how long, or where the killer would go from there. Mrs. Hudson's would be the next most likely place since it had ben his home, if he hadn't been there already. Sherlock gave chase, but instead of going to Baker Street, the stranger went to a run down area of London. Sherlock took mental note of the name of the door, Ed Nash. Then he followed him inside his flat.

Sherlock watched curiously as he took off the mask, seeing the face of his murderer for the first time. There was nothing remarkable about him. Brown hair and eyes, a face that wasn't exceptionaly good or bad looking. If Sherlock would have passed him on the street before he'd have had no reason to remember him. The claw marks were the only thing noticable about him now. Sherlock mentally thanked Toby.

The other man pulled out a phone. Sherlock briefly wondered if it was stolen or not. Had someone else died because of it? Not a problem he could solve now. He listened in on the conversation.

"Yeah I couldn't get it. I ended up having to get out of there fast. Don't worry. No, I won't fail! It has to be there or with the old woman, but there's someone living there now. I think the girl has most of his things. I know the consequences. I won't let you down." He hung up.

"You're not going to get near her again," Sherlock warned. "And whatever it is you were after, I'll see to it that you don't get it."

He went over what he'd heard again. So it was something of his that they were after, and there were at least two people involved. He had to know who the othe peson was, but first he'd have to check in on Mrs. Hudson.


End file.
